CHAPTER FIVE
FASHIONS
Defoe was at his desk writing, as usual, when his wife swept in.
“I need to know what you are wearing to Lady Hamphireshire’s Eve ball,” she demanded. Her husband looked blankly at her.
“Ah…..”
“You cannot wear that absolutely outdated outfit you wore last. It is simply out of fashion!”
“Ah…” He held his pen in the air, he realized too late a drop of ink was about to splash on his letter. He caught it at the last moment with his sleeve and then scowled at his sleeve.
“Look at you…” she berated him. “Ink on everything. What am I to do?” She was holding a hand against her forehead.
“Well……” he didn’t quite know what to say.
“There is nothing else for it, Charles knows the name of an excellent suit maker and you simply must go, now. The ball is less than ten days away!” She commanded.
His mouth was still hanging open.
“I have it all arranged. Charles knows where to go and the two of you can go this morning and get started.”
“Fine my dear, fine,” Dafoe finally replied to his wife. “However, I must get this letter done before I go anywhere.”
“Very well, if you must. But Charles is getting the carriage ready and you need to be off.” She swept back out of the room. Defoe stared after her a moment, then shaking his head returned to his letter.
The letter was addressed to Robert Harley, 1st Earl of Oxford and was one of a series of ongoing reports Defoe made on his effort to persuade the Scottish people to support the Acts of Union which passed in 1707 and unified Scotland and England.
“My dear Earl: you will be happy to note that the Scottish rabble, some of the worse ever seen, do seem a little less truculent than in days past. My wife and I have been invited to a party at the home of Lady of Hampshire and her husband a known Whig and Presbyterian appears to agree with me in the increase of revenues to Scotland from trade as a result of this agreement.
I fear less for my life than as before and will continue with my duties to you and the crown. Faithfully, Daniel Defoe.”
He sealed the letter with a dot of wax and closed it with his personal stamp. He called his manservant, Smith, who had been with him since London. Placing the letter in a small pouch, he handed it to Smith.
“You know where this goes,” he said solemnly.
“Same as always sir,” Smith nodded and placed the pouch around his neck and under his vest.
“Remember don’t stop on the way to talk to anyone until you are out of Scotland and stay on the path to London and no strong drink.”
“You have my word Milord.”
“God be with you and keep you safe.”
“Aye sir, my wife will be traveling with me this time and I think that will help me stay alert.”
“Very well Smith, here are funds for the trip. Stay safe.”
Smith bowed and retreated out of the room. Defoe knew Smith would have to saddle the mare before leaving and gather his wife; there was no point in staying longer. If he couldn’t trust this man, he couldn’t trust anyone.
He got his wig out and put it on; only for his wife’s sake. He hated wearing this thing. It made his head itch. Downstairs he called to Charles who raced upstairs from the stables.
“We be already for yea Milord.” Defoe nodded and let himself be led downstairs and then on to the haberdashers. He liked getting fitted for new clothes almost as much as going to a dentist and he hated going to the dentist.